


Beginnings

by Gasara



Category: The Chronicles of the Raven - James Barclay
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gasara/pseuds/Gasara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four individuals. One contract.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the morning of the Raven's first ride.

There was a distinct chill in the air, Sirendor noted, as he stepped out into the empty early morning street. Heavy rainfall overnight had given way to clear skies and a crispness that made his skin prickle beneath layers of fine wool and leather. He tugged his cloak tighter around his body, glanced once more at the parchment in his hand and, with an air of confidence he did not wholly feel, stepped out to meet the day.

-

Hirad Coldheart ducked the plate of sliced meats that came his way and lowered a hand to the pommel of his sword.

“Easy now.”

A cup sailed past his head, his calloused fingers tightening fractionally in response.

“Easy? Easy, you bastard? That’s all you’ve got to say? Bloody barbarian. I’m not just a warm bed, you know. But that’s all it is with you lot, isn’t it? A quick fumble and you’re out the door.”

Hirad shrugged casually. “Well I wouldn’t say no if you wanted another-”

This time, the plate hit him square on.

-

“You’re not even listening, are you? Gods above, Ilkar, will your head ever come down out of those trees?”

The elf in question turned his head to find Seran standing a few yards away, the lines on his face standing out starkly against his pale, aged skin. Ilkar managed an apologetic smile and closed the book that had been sitting impotently in his lap.

“It’s been twenty years,” Seran sighed, his arms outstretched, imploring. “And you’re going to waste it all on this fool’s errand?”

Ilkar frowned and drew himself up. “Who’s to say it’ll be a waste?”

“It’s a reckless path you choose, Ilkar. What good can come from it, I’ll never know.”

At this, Ilkar smiled. “We’ll see, Seran. We’ll see.”

-

The three men cowered and all but climbed over each other in their haste to get away. A boot slipped on the slick cobblestones, one man falling, wheeling his arms in an attempt to keep himself upright. The stockiest of the trio caught a glancing blow to his shoulder, pitching to the ground in an ungainly heap as the third paused mid-flight. His eyes darted to his comrades on the ground, to his escape route, to the curious faces peering out of the windows at the commotion outside. Finally, he glanced behind him at the tall, broad, powerful man whose strong hands closed tight around the handle of a butcher’s knife. He swallowed, his throat feeling all too dry, and turned again to run.

“Yes,” a slow, authoritative voice called out, easily drowning out the desperate clamour of his victim’s escape. “Do run, there‘s a good lad. Be sure to pass on a message for me, will you? Let people know that this-“ He pointed the knife at the two prone figures on the ground. “-is what happens when you try to fuck with my bar.”


End file.
